The unhappy have but hours, and these they lose.-Dryden
It stormed last night. The air is thick enough to drown in this morning. I opened the windows and filled the house with the earthy breeze, as if to replace the missing scents that make a home feel lived in. There are no more remnants of meals cooked, no hint of acrid carbon drifting in the air after blowing out the candles I lit before bed. This house screams of solitary confinement. One woman, possibly a child or two, once. No warmth, no love, no signs of life.
I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to the sounds of distant thunder. I walked downstairs and sat in my chair, staring off into space. For once, my rapid flip book memories had taken a break… too tired to go on, most likely. I mediated on the vacant space… contemplating the intricacies of the void. All senses dormant, I played a strange, silent game as I lurked on the periphery of an absurd alternate realm.
I thought to myself, “I’ll never sleep.”
Myself retorted, “I will, I just have to remember how.”
I packed up my mental baggage and dragged my broken soul back up to rest. As I laid in bed, I remembered how to sleep. To sleep, one must forget. I stopped the inner monologues, the mental televisions with broken channel changers, I evicted the deep cold of loneliness. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I tamed every biting ache, I pushed every ounce of tension to the empty side of the bed. In putting them to sleep, I had a partner. I slept with myself last night… I slept like the dead.
I’m awake now… and different.
There is no permanence in peace… but I certainly appreciate it more because it’s rare. To take a break from morbid meanderings and floundering hopelessness… nothing short of bliss.
If the sky can remember the sun after this storm, I can’t be one who has forgotten the light.